The Queen knew that she was there, but went on with her prayers, or seemed to go on.  Jehane knelt suddenly, put her arms out over Richard, stooped and kissed his cheek.  Then she looked up, desperately triumphing, for any one to question her right.  None did.  Berengere prayed incessantly, and Jehane panted.  The words broke from her at last.  ‘Dost thou question my right, Berengere,’ she said fiercely, ’to kiss a dead man, to love the dead and speak greatly of the dead?  Which of us three women, thinkest thou, knoweth best what report to make concerning this beloved, thou, or Alois, or I?  Alois came, speaking of old sins; and you are here, plaining of new sins:  what shall I do, now I am here?  Am I to speak of sin to come?  Thou dear knight,’ and she touched his head, ’there is no more room for thy great sins, alas!  But I think thou shalt leave behind thee some spark of a fire.’  She looked again at Berengere, who saw the glint of her green eyes and the old proud discontent twisting her lip, but did nothing.  ‘Look, Berengere,’ said Jehane, ’I speak as mother of his child Fulke of Anjou.  I had rather my son Fulke sinned as his fathers have sinned, so that he sinned greatly like them, than that he should grow pale, scheming safety in a cloister, and make the Man in our Saviour ashamed of His choice.  I had rather the bad blood stay, so it stay great blood, than that it should be thin like thine.  What is there to fear, girl?  A sword?  I have had a sword in my heart eight years, and made no sound.  Let the son pierce what the father pierced before.  I am a lover, saying not to my beloved, “Stroke my heart, dearest lord”; but instead, “Stab if thou wilt, my King, and let me bleed for thee.”  So I have bled, sweet Lord Jesus, and so shall bleed again!’ She stooped and kissed his head, saying, ’Amen.  Let the poor bleed if the King ask.’  The Queen went on praying; but Richard opened his eyes without start or quiver, looked at Jehane leaning over him, and smiled.

‘Well, my girl, well,’ he said, ’thou art in good time.  What of the lad?’

‘He is here, Richard.’

‘Bring him to me,’ says the King.  So Des Barres stole out to the Moslems at the door, and came back leading Fulke by the hand, a slim, tall boy, fair-haired, and frank in the face, with his father’s delicate mouth and bold grey eyes.  Jehane turned to take him.

‘This is thy father, boy.’

‘I know it, ma’am,’ says young Fulke, and knelt down by the bed.  King Richard put his hand on his head.

‘What a rough pelt, Fulke,’ he says, ’like thy father’s.  God send thee a better inside to it, my boy.  God make a man of thee.’

‘He will never make me a great king, sire,’ says Fulke.

‘He can make thee better than that,’ said his father.

‘I think not,’ answered Fulke.  ’You are the greatest king in the whole world, sire.  The Old Man of Musse said it.’

‘Kiss me, Fulke,’ said Richard.  The boy put his face up quickly and kissed his father’s lips.  ‘What a lover!’ the King laughed; and Jehane said, ‘He always kisses on the lips.’  Richard sighed, suddenly tired; Fulke looked about, frightened at all the solemnity, and took his mother’s hand.  She gave him over to Des Barres, who led him away.